


the flash then the silence

by Cheloya



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheloya/pseuds/Cheloya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most people flee from the Breach. Julian is drawn to it.</p>
<p>or:</p>
<p>The one where Julian is a mage disguised as a Tranquil, and Garak is Qunari.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the flash then the silence

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Nagia, Eclectify, and Kylanthra, who listened to my excited frothing. At great length. Whether they wanted to or not.

The breach cracks and fizzles against his senses, a wrongness so deep he can’t help reaching out to correct it, though the gods only know how such a thing could be repaired. It’s just as well the thing plays havoc with Templar senses, too, for he doesn’t notice the pair of them approaching until one beats a gauntleted fist ringingly against his kite-shaped shield.

“What’re you doing up here?” the Templar shouts through the wind. Weary, not worried — no one worries about the Tranquil, just about becoming one.

“I saw the phenomenon from my lodging house, in the wake of the explosion.” Julian raises his voice, but only slightly. “I wondered if my skills might be of assistance.”

The Templars trade glances. Julian wonders, without altering his expression, if they need to consult on what ‘phenomenon’ means.

“I see that many casualties are beyond what assistance a potion can render,” he continues, barely raising a hand to indicate the charred and petrified corpses clawing at long-vanished flames. “Are there survivors?”

The shorter of the Templars, a woman with notched scarring across the bridge of her nose, compresses her lips at him for a few moments, and then nods.

“If you’ve knowledge of healing, we’ve use for you. This way.”

* * *

He’s crouched in the lee of a half-wall, pressing fingers into the back of a fallen soldier’s knee to save her life if not the leg, when the woman with the mark staggers over the rise. Seeker Pentaghast is close behind, the elven apostate following at an easy lope.

Julian nods to the elf before returning to his work, wetting rough leather cord and looping it twice, thrice, above the knee. He pulls it tight, the soldier exhales harshly in protest, and Julian releases the vein behind her knee to knot the cord.

“Have you flint?” he asks the soldier, half to keep her alert, but before she can answer, the apostate has knelt with raised hands.

“May I?” The voice is gentle, rounded, but the eyes are sharp and grave. He doesn’t wait for Julian’s nod before his long fingers stretch over the cord. The soldier flinches at the sudden burst of heat and light, but Solas knows his business, and the cord creaks slightly as it dries, tighter than before.

“She will be grateful,” Julian says. “But her chances are increased if the wound is cauterised.”

Solas’ eyes fill with regret, but the line of his mouth is firm. He reaches forth to cup his hands over the jagged mess of her shin.

Julian eases the leather strap between the soldier’s teeth, and lets her crush his hand as she screams.

* * *

It’s most of a day’s march back to Haven, and though he is carted along with the worst of the wounded, the jostling renders potion-making pointless. Julian sits in the center of the dray, eleven charges variously draped and huddled around him. His hands lie still on his knees.

A stop is called at the foot of a rock formation that looks like a mason’s hammer and chisel with the handles set neatly together. Julian knows the road. He makes his excuses, claiming more herbs and potions stockpiled in his lodging house, and tells them he will meet them in Haven.

The Templar with the notched bridge grasps his hand, eyes frank and dark against her colouring.

“Andraste keep you,” she says. “And Maker guide your path. There’s more than one wouldn’t make it if not for you.”

“There’s more to do,” Julian says, and doesn’t show the creeping of surprise when he finds he intends to do it.


End file.
